Bruised
by FrankandJoe3
Summary: Megan goes to pay her respects to Artemis.


_#005: General: Emotion_

Jake was about ready to close the shop up for the night when he saw the young girl tearing across the street in a hurry, the folds of her large black dress billowing around her thin pale calves as she rushed to make it before his hand could flip the sign, bringing laughter past his lips. He put his hands down to the door's handle, opening it and holding it open, hearing the feminine laughter fill with relief even before she parted the entrance to the shop with a thankful smile.

"Th… thank you," she panted, hunching over to hold her stomach for a second before straightening and stepping out of the way so he could close the door behind her, "I hope you don't mind, of course…"

The owner of the little stone building calmed down to a light chuckle, his graying hair tied off with a thin and well-kept white scruff set to his chin, the creases of his smiles worn hard into his sixty three year old face. He shook his head, scratching that light set of scruff, turning his pale eyes her way, looking her over to make sure he wouldn't have to go in the back to get something to protect himself.

"You aren't from around here, now are you, hon?" his accent was thick with a southern edge, making it all the more welcoming as he walked back to the counter and started to walk around it to get to the register.

The woman tensed, her red hair showing beneath the black wide-brimmed summer hat topped with the black roses as she turned, amber eyes growing wide at the accusation.

"How'd you know?" she blinked lightly, raising a pale hand to wipe at the underneath of her eyes, giving a small hiccup that she had obviously tried to suppress without success.

The man saved the rest of his questions for later, locking the drawer that held his 9mm with a bit of confidence that he wouldn't need it against a woman in grieving. He let his smile ease into the mood, allowing it to be sympathetic while holding the friendly tone the best it could.

"Because, ma'am, your friend called me up in advance to warn me you'd be heading over," he gave out his secret without shame, a shrug to his shoulders, "and you're obviously on your way to a funeral from all that black. A little too much for a Gotham attendee. Black tie is regular with Mr. Wayne and all of his events, but this one's a bit closer to home for you it seems. You in need of some flowers?"

The redhead bit her lip gingerly and removed the hat from her head, hanging it on the hat rack near the door with a little sniffle, raising her head and showing the deeply scarred tear tracks that had ran ruins over her freckles. Her hair was close cropped at the back of her neck, something like a bob, and it didn't look too bad on her but the man was near positive she'd look a lot better with longer hair. It wasn't his territory though, and he was treading too close, so he kept his distance for the moment.

As he began to sort through the money, his pale eyes every once in a while darting up to her to make sure she was okay as she began to walk down the rows of carefully grown plants, all just waiting to be placed together in an assortment or bouquet to add beauty to somewhere. The woman would speak up when she needed to, he wasn't impatient. It just kept him here instead of having to return to that wife of his, something he'd stay in the shop all day to avoid returning to.

Then, words cut the comfortable quiet of the shopping.

"My name is Megan, by the way…" she must've been in her _early _twenties, if even that, but she held the strength and experience in her wavering tone of a woman twice that. "My friend… said your name was Jake… and that you were the best person to go to for getting… flowers for graves…"

_There we go_.

Jake leaned up off the counter with a small smile, starting around the counter, "Lemme guess, Dicky? That boy idolized my flower shop since his folks' funeral back in… oh… what was it… '05? '06? He was so little back then, sprouted like a regular flower now hasn't he?"

Seeing the surprised look cross Megan's face, he nodded in knowing that it was the alter ego Dick would never personally address but hinted that it was important his real name wasn't to be discussed. Big secrets were things he was great with dealing with. He held quite a few to his own name.

"Maybe not then, alright. I'm nowhere near the _best_, but I know my way around a bouquet, sweetheart. If you'll tell me a bit about the… victim… I'll have the appropriate piece put together before long."

The woman managed a smile and nodded, swallowing hard and looking out over the flowers as if placing her bets on what beautiful designs would be put together for the grave she'd be visiting after this.

"Artemis… she uh… no roses, please," the girl raised her head, meeting his eyes to emphasize the importance and feeling a bit better as he nodded, "She… she was a fighter… stubborn as they're made… but her heart was set in the right place and she always knew what to say. She was… like a sister to me, maybe more… and I hate myself for not being there to save her… I-I could've…"

She put her palms over her eyes, setting her jaw tight, but the tears still slipped and she found herself profusely apologizing, scrubbing hard at the tears almost enough to bruise. The sixty year old walked over and caught her wrist, pulling it back and offering her a tissue instead.

"No need to bruise yourself over the past… just adds another chapter to your story. We don't want a premature ending… Just one last thing and I'll stop asking questions," he watched as she took the tissue and nodded, holding off a few sobs from how hard her frame convulsed. "Did you love her?"

Megan could only nod before she walked over to a bench near the bay windows and buried her eyes in her hands, letting the sobs fall as quiet as she could.

"It's not good to hold it in. I've had a good lot in here pour their hearts out over these flowers… gives em some strength in growing, holds that emotion in the brightness of their petals and encourages them to look their best," he was already gathering flowers in his hands, nearly half done by the time the girl broke and let out all that she had held back.

The graveyard was nearly empty when the young woman walked out over it, being careful to avoid treading over any grave and specifically sticking to the aisles until she got to the slab of stone that said the one thing she had never thought she'd ever see. The tears were stall falling into the folds of her black dress, but these were softer tears, a few hitting the flowers and seeming to make them glow.

"Artemis…" she read her friend's name, the pale of her skin flipping back to the natural green as she traced the letters, still desperately hoping it was just one sick joke.

When she felt the engraved letters under her fingertips though, she knew it was more real than anything else had been in a long time. All those lies and she was left to stand on her closet friend's grave with the bouquet clutched tightly in her opposite hand, backing up as to be respectful.

"_It always helped me to pretend it wasn't a grave I was talking to. It was them, sleeping in a hospital underground and the gravestone was their way of hearing me. It made it hurt a lot less… D-Don't look at me like that! I was nine!" _Dick's words echoed back in her mind, still hearing Wally's quiet snigger at it.

Wally was gone though, and just like Artemis, he wouldn't return. He made that one clearer than the most expensive kind of crystal. It was just her now, standing by a grave, imagining a sickbay Artemis sleeping beneath the dirt and feeling stupid while doing it.

"No… none of my friends have died… before you… so this is my first funeral… I-I spent three hours on Google to make sure I didn't wear the wrong thing and… disrespect your grave or something. Nightwing said black represented mourning and it was the best thing… so I… you missed the hat, heh… Gar sure laughed at me for wearing it…" she rung her hands lightly, her laugh watery before she knelt down and placed the flowers against her friend's grave.

She made a mental note to thank Nightwing for it, seeing how easy it was now if she didn't think too hard on it. Her knees ached, begging to give out and rest in the freshly lain dirt below, but she resisted and stood tall again, brushing off her dress.

"I… I remember you said roses were lame…" she tried, but then it hit her hard.

There was no hospital, no soundboard, and no sleeping. Artemis was dead. Those flowers were tribute. Being a hero was a dying business, and everyone was taking that role too seriously. Before long, she'd be going back to Mars solely because there was no one left for her here. The loneliness would hurt a thousand times more than their teasing ever had, and she was willing to face it now, the tears strewn hard over her face.

**Alright, it's stupid, it's dumb, but the roses being lame thing was on Supernatural (Sam visiting Jess' grave in his dream, episode 2) and I wanted to include it in something. And emotion is hard to capture! Sorry if it sucks.**

**-F.J. III**


End file.
